


What Lies Underneath

by SteamLemur



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Drama, F/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteamLemur/pseuds/SteamLemur
Summary: After John Pyramidhead gets fired from his IHOP job, he embarks on a long journey to his eventual destiny on Broadway.





	1. Good Egg

You're a good egg, John," my mother said to me long ago. But at this point, the only eggs I saw were on the floor of a San Diego IHOP, surrounded by fragments of a broken plate. I nearly broke down, another accident. My manager, Ted Edwards, approached me and said, "In my office, now." I could feel the sternness in his voice. I followed him, making sure that I ducked my helmet underneath the manager's office door.

Ted sat down in his chair and folded his arms, "There's something that I have to disclose with you, John. Personally, I think you're a cool dude. Customers seem to like you and you're an absolute hit with kids. I still don't know why, but it is what it is. But I want you to take a look at this."

He handed me a long list of withdrawals, hundreds of dollars in plates and even more in drywall repair. "I have to be frank, John. You're costing me more money than you're worth in repairs and replaced plates. From a business standpoint, keeping you around is going to cost me too much. I have to let you go, John."

I asked him, "Wait, isn't there something I can do? I mean, I know that I'm just a run-of-the-mill guy with a pyramid helmet, but still! There is no other John Pyramidhead."

"No, but clearly this isn't a place where you belong. We had to plaster another wall because you bumped into it."

"There must be something I can do," I sputtered, "Just a few more days while I get another job lined up. I have fond memories here, of Rachel and Kim. Hell, remember when I called you Tedwards?"

That seemed to make the situation worse, not better. He leaned in and replied, "Son, let me give you some advice. At some point in your life, you're gonna have to take off that goddamn pyramid helmet. Now get out of my sight."

I returned to my friend Ronnie's house. Yeah, I lived with my friend Ronnie, he had a boa constrictor that sneaks into my cereal every morning. Other than that, he spends his days playing Call of Duty and flipping off the neighbors. He's kind of shit, but I couldn't say it to his face. At least I couldn't until now.

San Diego was a dumpster fire, I always hated it. I remember looking up at the stars on cold winter nights, imagining myself dancing in the cosmos like a graceful ballet dancer. Then I'd smack a meteor and send it straight for the cancerous blight that this shithole of a town is. Did I mention my mom said I was a good egg?

I came home and Ronnie was clearly preoccupied with shooting virtual men on the screen. His snake was making pancakes, because he clearly hated cereal. I started to talk to him, "Victor, should I leave this place?"

Then Victor stared at me and said, "How about an apple, John Pyramidhead?"

I snapped back at him, "If you make another fucking Bible reference, I'm going to use you as my belt."

Victor shirked and then asked, "You all right, John? You got a long face. I mean, that fucking helmet, but you know what I mean."

"I don't need any shit about my helmet, Victor. I just got fired for it," I replied, exasperated.

"What? Fired?"

"Yeah, apparently me bumping into walls broke them. And I've broken so many plates that Tedwards had to let me go,"

"Do you have anything you can blackmail him with?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me to blackmail him? I want to be a good egg, like mom said."

"When was the last time you saw your mom?"

"A few years ago, she was celebrating her fifth year in the industry. That's a long time."

"What industry?"

"Not important. Either way, I hate this fucking place. I wanna get out here."

"And go where?"

"Dunno, I just don't care anymore. I'm gonna pack my shit tonight and put in my last month of rent to Ronnie. Maybe I'll say goodbye."

"Don't bother. Because Ronnie's been playing Call of Duty for the past few months on end, his vocabulary has completely devolved into just saying 'fuck off'. He used to use racial slurs too, and honestly I think that he stopped not because he was a decent person but because he just got too dumb to say them."

"Does he even pay bills anymore?"

"Pretty much anything that takes more cognitive effort than simple addition is something I have to do. I don't like this, at all. I've had to get a second job to pay for it all."

"How long are you going to do that?"

"Not much longer, clearly, when Ronnie and I made the lease, I expected to be in grad school by now, or maybe an internship. I'm exhausted, and I don't know what to do."

"I dunno. Let me check the fridge for something to eat. I'm kind of famished," I opened up the fridge door, "Just spoiled milk and the seared flesh of a Scientologist. Why do you not shop for food anymore?"

"I get stares when I go to Trader's Joes. You'd think a liberal place like that would better about snake customers, but you'd be surprised." Victor replied. No hissing there, though.

I rushed back to my room and packed my things. Then I saw Victor carrying an apple to Ronnie. I creaked the door open, "Uhh, Ronnie?"

He replied, "Fuck off."

I said, "Gonna be leaving, for good."

"Fuck off."

"Left the last month of rent on the table."

"Fuck off."

Victor asked, "Want an apple? Have a bite!"

Ronnie replied, "Fuck off," though it sounded more approving judging by the tone of his voice. He picked up the apple from Victor and shoved it in his mouth without bothering to bite it.

Victor shouted, "Stop! You can't eat that whole! Let me or John do the Heimlich Maneuver!"

Ronnie raised his middle finger and gave a final "Fuck ooooooooooooooofffffffff," before he died.

I sighed, "I kind of expected that to happen sooner."

Victor replied, "There's nothing left for you here. I'll clean up this mess, believe me. Start a new life, John Pyramidhead. A life where you're happy and not burdened by people who don't respect your helmet."

"I will, Victor. Thank you." I packed the last of my belongings and caught a glimpse of Victor swallowing Ronnie's corpse whole. Something tells me things are better off that way. The cold San Diego winter night came back again, and with it I figured I'd start a new life. I stood in front of a bus stop with a young woman, she asked, "Starting over?"

I replied, "Maybe, but I don't know where I'm going."

"That makes two of us."


	2. Margot

Chapter Two: Margot

"Who are you?" the young woman asked me. She could feel the soft patter of rain on her forehead, ruining her skin-whitening cream.

"Me? I'm nobody. At least that's who I feel like right now. Who should I be?" I asked her in return.

"All I know is that your pyramid helmet is...well, kind of cute," she said to me.

"Cute? That's a new one. It got me fired from my job. My manager wanted me to take it off."

"He can't do that, it's a religious thing, right?" The girl asked me.

I went on, "My religion was the Church of the Saturday Morning Cartoon. I was raised by the friendliest television I ever knew. She was kind, compassionate, a little thick in terms of her tubing. But she had buttons, not dials."

"Do you remember her name?"

"Sylvania…"

"That's better than me. I never felt like I had parents. I always felt like nobody. I wonder...should I even bother explaining it?"

"Do you have a name? Maybe we can be somebody together."

"My name...they call me Margot. No, not Margot Robbie...Margot Clemens."

"My name Is John Pyramidhead. Just a guy who's trying to start over,"

"Hey, you wanna be a travel couple?"

"Travel couple?"

"Yeah, we're in a relationship until we get to where we need to go. No one else would want someone like me."

At this point, Margot's makeup was completely ruined. I saw true beauty underneath the facade, a form that I had not expected to see in this hellhole. I mean, I suppose it was hard for me to tell given that I'm seeing through this helmet.

"This is...I guess a new start. Wanna make out?"

As we pressed lips to the metal gratings of my pyramid helmet, a random passerby yelled, "Hey idiots, there's no bus that comes around here anymore!"

We called an Uber, a real sketchy dude named Don Elliot, his car reeked of shellfish. It took me about five minutes to get in the fucking car.

We gave a destination, Salt Lake City, Utah. As San Diego faded into the distance, so did my apprehension. I touched the lipstick on my helmet, maybe this is where things turn around for me.


	3. Chapter 3: John Pyramidhead Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Johnny Pyramidhead's life is changed forever when he learns that he's been lied to his entire life.

Margot fell asleep beside. Soon enough, I drifted off too. It was a dream of a life I had lived long ago.

I remember when I was a little kid, still had the same pyramid helmet. It actually grows, don’t ask me how or why, I just wear the damn thing.

Because I spent a lot of time with aunt Sylvania, I ended up switching channels after The Hour of the End, 11 AM. In the Church or Saturday Morning Cartoons, this is when the service ends.

But I found a loophole, since aunt Sylvania also showed me old 50’s sitcoms and since my parents were always at work in San Fernando, I spent my weekend afternoons watching Leave it to Beaver.

This led to some awkwardness. I remember a young girl named Gabriella at high school. She was my first crush, a young bookish woman. Perhaps it was the hormones that did it for me and not anything intrinsic to her. In fact, I think that’s pretty much it. She was the girl-next-door type with dirty blonde hair. I remember asking her out, but before that, a bit of background. 

I spent most of my days at San Diego High contemplating how much of a failure I was going to be later in life. Even the kids that ruthlessly bullied others pitied to the point where I ended up getting the lunch money they took from their victims.

They stopped repairing the door because it was just not worth the effort, so you’d see a triangle outline smashed through the door frame. My teachers just stuck papers through my pyramid helmet when I needed to read something.

It was during this time I discovered my love for the theater, I quickly gained presence of my high school production of “The Erotic Adventures of Edith Lillard”, which was apparently an obscure 19th century play that was basically one long acid trip that elaborated on the sexual fantasies of the female playwright. I got to play the male lead, but I still don’t know what idiot gave this the go-ahead. Apparently, Gabriella got paired with me as the female lead. There’s something odd about singing a musical number about the joys of orgasm.

My parents were cool with it, in fact they actually showed up and handed out DVDs to the parents in the audience. Apparently, the district superintendent was there and she was crying the entire time. I looked at her notes to the administrators because I snuck into the teacher’s lounge to eat their day old donuts. Apparently, the theater program director got sacked because of “a flagrant display of inappropriate behavior that calls into question the safety of those working under Mrs. Yna Propriate. Then again, with that name, what moron didn’t see this sooner? I have arranged for her to be launched out by catapult, just because I can.”

Also, that Johnny Pyramidhead kid actually did a really good job. Like, sure I was listening to him go over a musical number about how much he loves lingerie, but every minute of it I was distracted by the fact that I had to fire a whole bunch of people and pull out some old legislation that allowed me to launch someone by catapult. Out of all this, I feel sad for Johnny Pyramidhead for being foisted into a situation of which he knew nothing.

But Gabriella also loved my performance. She approached me coyly, and said, “Johnny, I dunno how to say this but...I think that you did a great job out there. And...I kind of want to get dinner.”

It’s important to mention that I basically assumed I was living in the 1950’s, so I carried about seventy cents worth of change at all times. I figured we’d go to the diner, which of course was modeled after a 50’s diner making the whole fact that it wasn’t the 50’s confusing.

I said to her, “Golly-gosh-gee-whilikers, Gab! That sounds like a swell idea! Maybe we can play jacks for keeps after!”

She stared back at me, “What?”

I then replied, “Ooh! Maybe we can get a hula hoop and…”

She said, “Why don’t we just get dinner first?”

We made our way to the diner and sat down. Elvis Presley was playing and I mentioned, “Wow, it’s that new guy, Elvis! I’d like to go see him in person!”

Gab said back, “Johnny, he’s...nevermind, take a look at the menu.”

I ordered a delicious black and white malt, while Gab just got a Coca Cola. We were about order food when I said, “I dunno, Gab. These are really expensive malts. I only brought seventy cents.”

She stared back incredulously, “Johnny, why are you only carrying seventy cents?”

I replied, “Well, golly, Gab. Most malt shops are only 50 cents.”

She scoffed and said, “Maybe in the 1950’s it was...Wait a minute…”

I asked, “What’s wrong Gab?”

She asked, “What year do you think it is?”

I replied, “1958, why?”

She facepalmed, “What? How did you ever come to that conclusion? What about when you’re asked to provide the date? Do you put the year as 1958?”  
I replied, “I sure do! Why is that a problem?”

She yelled back, “John! It’s 2011! Our president is a guy named Barack Obama, and right now Michael Bay is having a field day with making terrible Transformers movies for the Hollywood machine! Elvis Presley has been dead for a good while. Why didn’t your parents tell you this?”

“They’re in San Fernando, working,” I mentioned, “They came out for the last play I put on, which was honestly the first time and I can’t exactly understand why.”

Apparently, savvy, she broke down, “I’m sorry Johnny, I pity you so much. You have no idea what’s going on. Please tell me though, at least you understand that you are going to need more than seventy cents to pay for our meal.”

“Why would I?” I replied.

Gab shook her head in disgust and said, “I’m sorry, Johnny, but this has been the worst date I’ve ever been on. I pity you, more than you could ever know. You have great talent as an actor, but I really can’t be with a guy who thinks it’s the 1950’s and doesn’t understand the basic economic concept of inflation. This is goodbye, Johnny.” She stood up and stormed out.

The manager came out and said, “Kid, I feel awful for what just happened. Starting next week, you’re a waiter here. Don’t even worry about paying for the meal, just know that your entire life has been a lie.”

I shrugged in defeat. Then I said, “I guess I can’t trust Aunt Sylvania. I had faith in the Church of the Saturday Morning Cartoon.”

The manager said through tears, “I hate to break this to you, kid, but most networks have scrapped their Saturday morning programming blocks of cartoons and Sylvania is an electronics brand, your aunt is a television.”

I yelled at the top of my lungs, “MY LIFE HAS BEEN NOTHING BUT LIES!”


End file.
